


Is this a hint?

by oh_simone



Series: Songs About Jack [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Los Angeles, M/M, Oblivious Jack, Pining, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_simone/pseuds/oh_simone
Summary: Jack's in Los Angeles on what Peggy calls "enforced sickleave," what Jack prefers to think of as an "extended layover," and what Daniel's treating as an opportunity to play tour guide.
Relationships: Daniel Sousa/Jack Thompson
Series: Songs About Jack [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1981484
Comments: 6
Kudos: 41





	Is this a hint?

The best time to watch Daniel is when other people are distracted.

It’d taken awhile for Jack to catch on, because most of the time it’d been himself and Peggy being distracting in the bullpen. But once, Daniel ended up caught between Hillard and Ramirez while they were planning a raid. The whole office had paused to peer into the conference room for the sheer novelty of seeing Ernest Ramirez, an otherwise steady, dare he say, even cold-blooded, personality, go off like a steaming kettle. Jack’d u-turned from his excursion to the pantry and fetched up against the wall, better to rubberneck but also to step in if needed.

He’d smirked—at the sight of Ramirez eviscerating Hillard with an over-detailed critique of a topographical chart, while Hillard slung back with logistical constraints, and poor Sousa, seated between the two of them, eyes ping-ponging back and forth. Jack had finished the dregs of his coffee, grimaced at the reminder of why he’d left his desk in the first place, and prepared to swagger in and break it up when Daniel calmly glanced down at the notes, cocked his head, and pushed away from the table. He’d walked out of the conference room unnoticed by his arguing teammates, went to his desk, and rummaged in the bottom drawer.

Then, Daniel, smiling reassuringly at his loitering colleagues, ambled into the conference room, and slammed a heavy-duty pipe wrench down on the table. The entire office jumped and went silent.

Ramirez and Hillard stared at him—heck, everyone did, Jack included—but Daniel just sat down casually and gestured to the wrench.

“Maintenance tunnel, extends quarter-mile to the grid. We get in there early, wait for lights out, and head in, already within the perimeter security measures, no bypassing needed. Only need to worry about the shift change, which, Bob…?”

Hillard jumped when he realized Daniel was staring at him pointedly. “Oh, uh, ten past seven.”

“That gives us six minutes to target, five on target, six minutes out. Three minutes for cushion. We’re in and out in less than 20 minutes.” Daniel leaned back, laced his hands over his belly and locked eyes with Hillard, then Ramirez, a tiny smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. “That work, boys?”

Moments like those, Jack could never get sick of—seeing that glint of irritation flit across Daniel’s face, the tilt of his head as his big brain worked its cogs, and then that considering brow as he decided the most pragmatic way to resolve the problem, and also indulge his own deep flair for melodrama and mischief. It was a thing of beauty.

But Jack only knows this because watching Daniel has become second nature.

Jack woke with a start and fell off the couch. He landed on his face mashed into the office carpet, heart still pounding in his ears and old aches flaring up and down his body. As the adrenaline of waking receded, air returned to his lungs shakily, and he became aware of the faint scritchings of a pen on paper, a warm tangle of blankets around his legs.

“You alright?”

Jack took another moment for himself, laid out on the ground. He closed his eyes, grimaced, and shoved upright gingerly. “Yeah, fine. Just dozed off,” he said.

Over at his desk, Daniel didn’t bother to stop writing, but he did hum pointedly. Jack scowled.

“Hey, I’m not the sad sack doing paperwork on—Jesus, ten pm—on Friday. Are _you_ alright?”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “I said you could head to the house first, Jack. You insisted on waiting.”

“Because I thought it’d be an hour at most,” Jack grumbled, and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m up now. Are you planning to work through the whole night?”

“In fact, I’m about done,” Daniel told him lightly, and as if just waiting for Jack to hit his breaking point, signed with a flourish and capped his pen. He glanced up and lifted an eyebrow. “You ready to go?”

Jack contemplated throwing his shoe at that stupid smirk dancing in the shadows of his stupid dimples. “Just get out of here, Sousa, geez.” He hauled himself upright and tossed the blanket over the arm of the couch, picked up his suitcase, and made a great show of after you-ing.

They strolled out of SHIELD’s newest West Coast division headquarters, the Los Angeles night air still and quiet this hour. The sodium lights lining the parking lot cast the blacktop in vaporous orange pools of light; beyond, the night sky was very dark, full of the lingering smells of dry grass, exhaust, the gentle trills of crickets. There were only a few cars left on the lot, and Daniel’s was closest to the door, perks of being the boss. Jack hadn’t bothered renting a car from the airport, and was doubly glad now as he tossed his suitcase in the back and slid into the passenger seat.

“You hungry?”

“Jack, it’s almost midnight,” Daniel said patiently, starting up the car and backing out of his spot.

Jack rolled his head against the backrest to stare at him. “It’s lunchtime in Tokyo.”

“Nothing around here’s open, but I got half a sandwich in the fridge,” Daniel offered.

Eyes slipping shut, Jack sighed. “You could’ve had your pick of any division, Sousa, and you chose this little desert podunk town filled with lunatics and cowboys. Can’t even get a proper pastrami at this hour.”

“But the weather,” Daniel drawled.

Jack flapped his hand dismissively. “Dries out your skin, everyone’ll look like beef jerky by the time they’re fifty.”

“Whatever you say, Jack,” Daniel laughed and steered them out into the empty streets. There wasn’t much traffic, and even less as Daniel headed out into Pasadena. Jack dozed off, and didn’t stir until the car rolled to a complete stop. He yawned and followed Daniel out of the car and up the steps to the neat, single-level craftsman bungalow trimmed in dark green.

“New paint?”

“Last May.”

“Looks nice.”

Daniel waved Jack in first through the unlocked door. “Guest room’s set up. You want a shower first, or in the morning?”

“Better rinse the grime off before I tuck in,” Jack said reluctantly, thinking about the long forty-eight hours of travel he’d endured.

“You know where the towels are.” Daniel puttered about in the kitchen, rinsing out his coffee mug from the morning and stacked some dry flatware.

Jack grunted his thanks and veered off down the hall. Of course he knew where the towels were. Over the occasional layovers when Jack crashed at Daniel’s instead of the Knickerbocker, he’d familiarized himself by poking through the cozy two bedroom bungalow, eager to glimpse whatever secrets that a domestic Daniel could hide in its corners. Which is how he’d found the towels, stacked in the living room magazine rack. Daniel had been refitting the linen closet at the time, but now always left a fresh towel for Jack there.

Most mornings, Jack kept a strict routine. His father had been military before a fed, and he’d run his family like an army unit. The wartime years spent in the Marines had only reinforced Jack’s reluctant reverence for firm schedules, but post-international travel was always a crapshoot. He woke up to full sunlight sliding through the window, and though his body insisted it was morning, the shadows told him it was likely past noon. There was coffee on the nightstand, still warm. Jack wallowed in the bedding a little longer, and then set about getting out of bed. He shrugged on a cardigan, picked up the coffee, and drank it as he headed out of his room.

Daniel wasn’t in the house, but there were sounds coming from outside, so Jack shuffled out to the backyard, still clutching his mug. The yard wasn’t too large, just a neat square of concrete on which rested a grill and a couple chairs, and beyond, a thin strip of lawn, bordered with an herb garden and wooden fence. Daniel was crouched on the lawn, trimming at a vine laden with tomatoes.

“Need a hand?” Jack asked.

“Hold this, will ya?” Daniel twisted around and brandished a wicker basket filled with tomatoes.

Jack took the basket, enjoying the weight and bright summer color of the fruits.

“Think these’re the last of the season,” Daniel said as he made his way upright and eyeing the plants critically. “

“It’s October, Sousa,” Jack said dryly. “The season should’ve ended two months ago.”

“Welcome,” Daniel said pointedly, “to California.”

“It’s unnatural,” Jack grumbled, but allowed Daniel to use his arm and shoulder as a balance as he hauled himself upright.

“Come on, I’ll make you a tomato sandwich.”

The sunshine was piercingly warm, but a cool breeze kept the worst of the heat away. Ahead of him, Daniel bobbed along across the yard, stride lopsided but easy with familiarity, and the brace of his shoulders were as steady as always. There were streaks of silver touching his temples now; Jack could see them glimmering in the light.

Instead of opening his mouth to say something truly, spectacularly dumb, Jack followed him into the house, clicking the door shut behind him.

The kitchen was half as big as Jack’s entire apartment, which he allowed was a point for this city in its favor. Daniel directed him to the sink to rinse off the tomatoes while he slathered some slices of bread with mayonnaise and dropped them on a cast iron skillet.

“There’s some pop in the fridge, or coffee in the pantry,” Daniel told him. Jack went for the bottle of Coke and perched at the breakfast table.

“No vinegar,” Jack said, eliciting an eyeroll from Daniel as he began layering the sandwiches with slices of cheddar and tomato.

“Just salt and pepper, and a little oil,” he promised. Satisfied, Jack sat back in his chair and fiddled with the bottle. As he’d done for the past few days, he considered his physical wellbeing— ribs were kind of tight. Back hadn’t quit aching since he’d turned thirty-two. Papercut on his right hand stung. Head—better than last night, though there was still a lingering soreness in his neck. No fever anymore, hadn’t had a temperature since a couple of weeks ago. The case of meningitis he’d contracted overseas was fairly mild overall, except that Jack had fallen ill at an embassy dinner and nearly taken a header into the Japanese vice minister of trade’s soup course. That and the general tension surrounding the events leading up to the dinner, and the ambassador decided to send Jack home early and finish negotiating with the Japanese with Rose instead. Peggy had further strongarmed him into extending his layover and taking a couple personal days before heading back east. And as much as he griped, it was a relief to spend some downtime here, rather than in his drab and empty DC apartment.

“Lunch is served.” Jack startled as Daniel slid a plate before him. He didn’t bother to hide the mild look of concern as he maneuvered another chair to the seat across from him, but Jack just shrugged silently in reply.

“Looks good, Danny-boy. Thanks.”

Daniel grimaced at the nickname but let it slide.

“So, you’re heading into the office later?” Jack asked as they tucked in. He popped the top of the bottle and poured out half into a tumbler for Daniel.

Daniel jabbed a thumb outside the window. “Do you see anything on fire? Exploding? Loose dinosaurs? If not, paperwork can survive another day without me.”

“Yes, exactly why we left at ten last night, because you draw boundaries so well,” Jack drawled.

“It’s a concept that I’m at least aware of, Jack, which is more than you can say,” Daniel sniped back. It wasn’t anything that he hadn’t heard before, but the knowing in Daniel’s tone set his hackles up. Jack wiped his hands on a paper napkin then sat back in his chair.

“Since when have you started talking to Carter again?”

“We talk every week.”

Jack snorted in disgust. “Yes, I’m there for most of them. Shockingly bloodless, considering who’s on the calls.”

“Had I known we were being evaluated for entertainment I would have thrown in a few ‘per our last call’s and ‘correct me if I’m wrong’s.”

“Please, don’t make me nauseous, I’ve only just started keeping down solids.”

Daniel grinned. “You know that we’ve moved on, right? Peggy and I, as mature adults capable of growth?”

“Then why aren’t _you_ married and knocking out lil Dannys and Danielles like Battleship Carter?” Jack demanded. There wasn’t anything behind his question, except for a deep curiosity that couldn’t help surfacing at any right opportunity.

“Could easily ask the same of you,” Daniel shot back. “Doesn’t look like you’ve been directing that infamous Thompson charm offensive on anyone either.”

“Alright, alright,” Jack grumbled. He stuffed his mouth with tomato and bread to stopper any more words from slipping out.

Daniel regarded him with something almost fond. “It’s alright, Jack. We can keep company with a nice scotch until you find your next sweetheart.”

Jack shrugged. “That so?” He didn’t meet Daniel’s eyes, just obstinately chewed through his sandwich until Daniel sighed a little silently and sat back.

“So how is Michael doing?”

“Peggy’s got him walking and talking like a regular prodigy. Or Grant does, I guess. Don’t know how many actual waking hours Marge gets to spend with her own spawn, considering the hours she keeps in the office.”

“The kid’s two, that’s about expected, I’d think,” Daniel said, diplomatically avoiding commentary on Peggy’s maternal role.

Jack shifted uncomfortably. The sandwich was gone, only crumbs remaining, stuck to a smear of oil and tomato juice on the plate. “Yeah, probably.” He didn’t know what Daniel wanted—could bear?—to hear. That the first time they’d met, Mikey charmed his Uncle Jack by spitting up formula all over his favorite shirt, and then having the gall to laugh? That he once tried to pet a goose near the Tidal Basin, and Jack had to scoop him under one arm and book it when the goose took offense? Jack, despite himself, despite everything, was smitten.

But it wasn’t like Jack spent that much time with Peggy and her family. At the office, Director Carter and her deputy Jack Thompson had mostly ground smooth the rough edges between them, at least until the doors closed and they could shout at each other in comfortable familiarity. But those late nights over cold liquor and scribbled notepads, the harried mornings as Peggy gathered their presentation notes and Jack tried not to look like he’d fallen asleep on a stack of procurement forms, those were long over.

For one, there was Grant, a hulking, scruffy bohemian whose sudden presence in Peggy’s life seemed as mystifying to himself as to everyone else. Jack had already been primed to dislike him on pure principle alone, but it wasn’t hard to develop the true ambivalence he felt towards Peggy’s strange, reclusive husband. ‘Nothing like Daniel’ was Jack’s original disdainful thought, and even less charitably, ‘Not much like Captain America either.’ On the rare occasions they crossed, a civil exchange of pleasantries was overseen by an eagle-eyed Peggy, and then Jack would conveniently spot a colleague across the room.

The appearance of Mikey had brought a welcome shift in dynamics. But it didn’t solve everything.

“Jack?”

Daniel was peering at him, brow creased with concern. “Doing okay there?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” Jack pushed away from the table and took up the empty plates and cups, waved at Daniel to stay seated. “No- no, it’s two plates. I won’t keel over washing up.”

“Alright, thank you,” Daniel said peaceably. “Afterwards, you want to rest up?”

“What are you, my nurse?” Jack grumbled. “That’s all I’ve been doing for the last two weeks.”

“Well if you’ve not got anything else to do, let’s go for a drive,” Daniel offered.

Jack eyed him warily. “For fun?”

“It’s what people do out here.”

“What an incredible waste of gas.”

“Scrooge,” Daniel said, but he was smiling. Jack huffed to cover the urge to smile back. “How about the beach?”

There was no place that appealed less.

“Don’t got my bathing shorts,” he shrugged. “Look, I really don’t care. I’ll sit in the car and follow you wherever you go.”

Daniel looked thoughtful. “Alright then. No complaining.”

Despite Jack’s insistence, he did end up dozing off on the couch for a couple hours while Daniel wrapped up some chores. Jack would never admit it, but he adored Daniel’s couch, a squashy, unlovely green monstrosity that operated on the same principles as quicksand. Daniel had gotten it second hand, and griped endlessly about its terrible back support and the impossibility of climbing out from its cushioned depths, but still hadn’t replaced it. On a few occasions when Jack’s layover was particularly short, he never even made it into the guest bedroom.

The wide living room windows that looked into the backyard never let in too much light, shaded by some neighborly old oaks that leaned over the back wall. A modern record player sat in the corner, next to a small, neat bar cart. Over the brick fireplace was a series of sepia-toned family pictures. There were a few more modern ones as well—Daniel with his squad, squinting against bright French sunlight, and later, the three of them, plus Howard and the Jarvises on SHIELD’s first day running, smiling and proud in front of their nondescript headquarters.

“Oh, you’re up.” Jack turned. Daniel was in the doorway, still soft and casual, but a light jacket was slung over one arm. He cocked his head; his hair, less styled than it usually was at the office, curled over his forehead. “You ready to head out?”

It took a few moments for Jack to clear the dryness from his mouth, but he nodded and brushed at the wrinkles on his shirt. “Just let me get my coat.”

The afternoon was clear and sunlit orange, still warm where back east the temperatures would be sinking. Jack rolled the windows down and watched the streets blur past in long stretches of low, spreading storefronts and empty lots, waiting to be built up. Everything here was flat, pressed close to the earth. Better to see the mountains, he figured.

Daniel drove into downtown, crossed the Los Angeles River with its sharp concrete angles both brutal and modern, wove past a stretch of gaudy, scenic Chinatown, and pulled over at the corner. He had Jack wait in the car while he disappeared into the restaurant across the street, left him locked in a staring contest with a chubby-cheeked Chinese baby, caged in a pram and looking ready to raise hell for it.

That was how Daniel found him when he returned with a big bag reeking of savory grease—leaning out the window and pulling faces at a perplexed toddler.

“You making friends?”

“I’m trying,” Jack said, grinning. “Not sure she’s biting.”

“She hasn’t had her nap yet,” the mother confided, easing the pram back and forth. “Usually, she’s much more sociable.”

“Well, ma’am, good luck, and I advise you to keep her away from coffee in the future,” Jack said cheerfully. The poor woman looked torn between laughing and ramming the pram into his face. She settled on sighing wryly as Jack waved goodbye at the baby and Daniel wisely drove them out of there.

“Let’s not antagonize the good housewives of Chinatown, or the rest of Los Angeles, for that matter,” Daniel said.

“Just a couple more minutes, I woulda won her over,” Jack said, and eased back into his seat.

“Ah, yes. The infamous Thompson charm. Might work better on the unattached,” Daniel said, so deadpan Jack’d be completely in the right if he socked him in the arm. He was driving though, so a reprieve was given.

“Enough,” Jack groused. “Where’re you taking me?”

Daniel just flashed him a superior little smirk. “You’ll find out.”

It was really a shame he was still driving, Jack thought to himself, though not without a trace of fondness.

They ended up on a hill, of sorts. The sight of the walk up from the parking lot, and then even steeper climb up to their seats nearly broke Jack, but fortunately Daniel had a quiet exchange with one of the ushers and within a few minutes a golf cart pulled up. They rode past other murmuring concert goers hefting wine bottles and picnic baskets, the quiet strains of an orchestra warming up from somewhere unseen. The men were dressed up, the women had their pearls on, and more than a few couples wandered arm in arm up the path, heedless of the crowd about them.

When the cart stopped at the top of the hill, Daniel handed Jack the bag of food and the tickets.

“Go sit, I’m going to pick up some wine,” he said, and loped off before Jack could protest.

Shrugging, Jack did so, following others into an enormous concrete bowl, anchored by a white bandshell at the bottom of the hill. He got lost going up the wrong way, winking and grinning his way out of glares and dirty looks until he found their seats, almost the last row. Most people were further below him, and the stage was near impossible to make out. When Daniel finally joined him with a bottle and two glasses, Jack waved grandly.

“Well congratulations, Daniel, you’ve found the worst seat in the whole Bowl,” he said. Daniel just smiled.

“Depends on what you’re here for,” he said as he lowered himself onto the bench.

“If you say so,” Jack said, and handed him a sandwich. Overhead, the setting sun cast the sky in pinks and oranges; the orchestra below thrummed with the promise of music. Daniel uncorked the wine with a flourish and poured them each a generous glass. They both sat facing the downhill contentedly, nothing and no one but hill and concrete at their backs.

Midway through the program, Jack slugged Daniel’s arm in outrage.

“ _Marilyn Monroe_ , Sousa! You asshole, why didn’t you get box seats!”

By the time Marilyn’s tiny shining orange figure sashayed off stage, Jack was fully awake though it was almost ten. They slowly made their way back to the car, Jack offering to drive when Daniel smothered a yawn.

“Don’t think so,” Daniel said, and took the driver’s seat before Jack could insist.

The drive back was peaceful. Jack wondered when was the last time he’d gone to a concert without it being a backdrop to some sort of politicking. Probably during the war, on libo in Australia.

“You tired?”

“Hm? Not at all.”

Daniel was quiet a moment. “Okay then,” he said, and caught the turn off onto a different highway. Jack was tempted to ask where they were headed, but a kind of spell had settled over the car, and he was loath to break it. Besides, as much as he tried to ignore it, there was the lure of simply being in Daniel’s company for a little longer. They saw each other so rarely these past few years, and sometimes Jack wondered if he was the only one who missed those days of living out of each other’s pockets that they’d all taken for granted.

The road was sinuous as they turned up into the San Gabriel Mountains, cutting back and forth in the steeply dark rock, but Daniel drove with a sure hand, and the rhythmic sweep of the headlights before them was hypnotic. They climbed higher and higher until there was nothing to see but the black shadows of the forest around them and the night sky.

“There’s a blanket in the trunk,” Daniel said when they finally pulled over onto a shallow turnout near a maintenance shed. Jack blinked and roused out of a daze.

“What?”

Daniel nudged him. “Blanket in the trunk. It’s cold out, and your jacket won’t be enough.”

Jack got out of the car and went for the blanket.

A little walk away was a flat dirt scenic point with a couple benches just visible in the dark. Above the trees, a white domed building caught the light of the moon and stars. Clusters of spindly radio towers loomed a short distance away. By the time Jack had fetched the blanket, Daniel was already seated on one end of the bench.

“Mt. Wilson observatory,” Daniel explained. After a moment, Jack sat next to him, blanket over his lap. It _was_ colder than he’d expected, and strangely, that more than anything, put him more at ease than he’d been the last month.

“This is a view,” Jack whistled. Below them, past the gentle shadowy rolls of mountain, the sprawl of Los Angeles was reduced to flickering patches of light. Up above, the stars were countless.

“It’s something,” Daniel agreed. “Makes you feel a little less important.”

“Well now I know why you dragged me up here,” Jack remarked dryly, pleased when Daniel laughed and glanced at him.

“Is it working?” Daniel’s teeth were a flash of brightness in the night.

Jack bit his tongue and wrenched his gaze away, pretending to consider the stars. “I could do better than that,” he said offhandedly, and grinned at the snort of disgust.

“Your ego could power the sun,” Daniel conceded.

They pondered where among the constellations Jack’s ego might fit best. The sky glowed with starlight—Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent any time stargazing. Maybe when he was still a kid, spending summers on his grandparent’s farm in Pennsylvania. In the war, a second lieutenant made sure they all knew how to find the north star, but when they spent half their deployment south of the equator or fending off tropical storms, it wasn’t much use.

And to think the sky had always looked like this, crowded with sparks and pinpricks of entire other worlds and galaxies, when the lights were out.

“You ever wonder what’s waiting for us up there?” Daniel asked.

After a beat, Jack gestured to the sky. “Mostly I worry about whatever’s up there losing patience and coming down. There’s nothing much between that city below us and all that space.”

Daniel blinked. Jack couldn’t see it, but he could hear it. “Is that—really?”

“What, you don’t?” Jack eyed the sky, picking out one of the planets. Venus, maybe. “Carter and I. We’ve talked about it, some. There’s barely enough time to manage SHIELD as it is now, much less think about an effective defense against whatever improbable Soviet technology might be lurking above us, but she seems to think we need a plan. She even raised the need for protocols with the DoD in case of a full-on Orwellian invasion from Mars. If anything, it’s been an interesting training scenario to throw at the rookies.”

“No wonder you worked yourself sick,” Daniel said.

Jack rolled his eyes. “I did no such thing. It was just a cold, probably from when an attaché sneezed on me.”

Daniel made a skeptical sound. “I also know you went straight to Tokyo from Panama, and before that Peggy had you in New Mexico for-”

“And I wanted that.” He had. Still did. Peggy may be director in DC, but Jack wanted to be the boss on the ground. He wanted to know what was happening, anywhere SHIELD reached. Wanted people, from agents down on to the janitors to know his face. To imagine ‘Jack Thompson’ when they thought ‘SHIELD.’ It was only his due, after all. “I asked for those assignments, Sousa. It’s got nothing to do with Peggy.”

Daniel hummed noncommittally. “It sure doesn’t,” he said. “Until someone decides to target SHIELD, and you become the most obvious and accessible mark.”

“I’m not defenseless,” Jack muttered after a beat.

“When we’re talking theoretical Martian invasions, Jack, I think all our preparations are pretty moot,” Daniel sighed. “Also, an intern felled you with a sneeze.”

Jack groaned. “Aw, c’mon.”

“You should take better care, Jack,” Daniel continued relentlessly. “Or find someone who will.”

“You volunteering?” Jack joked.

But Daniel only raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?”

Below them, thin smears of clouds had begun patching the view. At night, the damp and chill rose and swallowed the whole city, mountains and all. Jack took the blanket off his lap and wrapped it around his shoulders instead. No one was around to see him swaddled like an oversized toddler. Only Daniel, who’d certainly seen worse.

Without glancing over, Daniel reached over and adjusted the fall of the blanket so it covered Jack’s side properly. Daniel’d never struck Jack as a mother hen until recent years. Maybe it came with being in charge. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted New York to think him soft, back when there’d been something to prove. Sometimes, in moments where Jack wasn’t consumed with the work and the politics and Peggy’s unrealistic expectations for a fledgling covert intelligence agency, he wondered who looked out for Daniel.

In their first, giddy, sleepless meetings outlining what would become SHIELD, Daniel was supposed to run the East Coast division, while Peggy sat pretty atop the entire organization. Jack would be the one ranging far afield, building networks and gladhanding contacts. But somewhere along the way, it’d all changed when he hadn’t been paying attention.

Jack watched Daniel watching the sky with a kind of peace Jack didn’t understand, but envied regardless.

“Are you mad at her?”

“What?” Daniel sounded startled, as surprised at Jack himself, for having voiced the question.

“Well, are you?”

“No,” Daniel said. His face was difficult to make out, even though they weren’t far apart. “What, because of—three years ago? No, I’m not mad at her. There’s nothing to be mad about.”

“Sure,” Jack said.

“Why—are you?”

“Me?”

“Mad at her?”

Jack opened his mouth to deny it. He wasn’t _mad_ at anyone, that’d be ridiculous. For one thing, Peggy and Daniel’s relationship had never anything to do with him. They’d found each other on their own, loved each other independent of him, and split up without his input on the matter. He’d been rooting for the two of them, but that was because they were all friends and colleagues. And so what if Peggy had gone off and married a complete stranger less than a year after? Jack hadn’t even been invited to the wedding; it’d been an elopement, which, when she’d confessed this to him, Jack was so stunned he’d accidentally stapled his own thumb.

The silence dragged.

“I’m not mad at Peggy,” Jack said finally, echoing Daniel’s own words back to him. It only made the not-quite truth a little starker. “There’s nothing to be mad about.”

“She thinks you haven’t forgiven her.”

Jack twisted around to give him an incredulous look, but Daniel was staring over the clouded valley below. “That’s…” Jack frowned and stopped himself. “Sure, you guys were a good team, and I didn’t enjoy hearing that it didn’t work out, but it’s not any of my business.”

The words scraped the edges of truth, which was about as far as Jack was willing to go. Even if he wanted to, the truth wasn’t just black or white. It was a horrible mess of contradicting and conflicting emotions, a desperate fragmenting spiral of what-ifs and what-nows.

All of he’d firmly shaded as ‘not my business’. He gripped the blanket tighter about his shoulders.

“Well, thanks,” Daniel said after a while. His voice was soft. “I thought we were a good team too.”

“Sure,” Jack shrugged.

“What made you ask?”

“Guess I just wondered. I always thought she made a mistake.”

Daniel laughed. “My ego thanks you.”

“Figured you’d like my opinion,” Jack grinned. “But it’s true. If it were-” _Me,_ he almost said, but stopped himself in time. “—a different time and place, maybe,” he finished weakly.

Daniel eyed him with some amusement, barely visible in the dark. “Maybe.” He shrugged. “But relationships aren’t carved in stone. Sometimes, you make all the right choices, and it still doesn’t work out the way you want it to. Sometimes, you hardly do anything, and it turns out alright. I’m just glad we tried at all, in the end.”

“Hard luck,” Jack murmured.

“Yeah. But I’m feeling optimistic about the future,” Daniel shrugged. “I’ve got a good feeling.”

“You’ve met someone?” Jack said. Somehow, he managed complete neutrality in his voice.

Daniel said, “Rethinking an old relationship, actually.”

Jack couldn’t bring himself to verbally wish Daniel luck. But after a moment, he snaked a hand out from under the blanket and clapped Daniel on the shoulder. The wool of his coat was frigid, but there was a faint promise of warmth just below. Jack lingered a moment longer than he should, and hastily retracted his hand back under his blanket.

“Think I’m pretty beat,” he said, abruptly. He stared out over the city lighting ethereal glowing patches in the clouds, so he wouldn’t have to meet Daniel’s eyes.

Daniel nodded easily. “Let’s get going. Mind giving me a hand up?”

“Sure,” Jack said, and took the offered arm. He pulled briskly, wanting to get Daniel onto his feet as efficiently as possible, and beat a tactical retreat to the car. The task was accomplished too well; Daniel came easily upright, but overbalanced. He splayed one hand over Jack’s chest, wound the other arm over his shoulder to keep from pitching onto the dirt. Jack steadied him automatically and found him clasped closer than he’d expected.

Daniel said, after an airless moment when Jack couldn’t figure out how to let go—“Jack.”

Jack dropped his arms and took a hasty step back, mouth open to apologize, only for Daniel to tighten his arm and stay him in his tracks.

“…Sousa?” Jack managed.

“I told you I’d been rethinking old friendships.” Daniel’s thumb brushed gently against Jack’s jawline. His palm cradled the curve of his cheek and rendered Jack immobile by that simple touch. He snapped out of it when Daniel chuckled.

“This isn’t funny.” Jack tried to step back, but instead, both of Daniel’s hands came up to cradle either side of his head, and caught him in a cage of tenderness. 

“Jack,” Daniel said soberly, his eyes shining in the darkness, “may I kiss you?”

A new terror bloomed inside Jack. Sheer panic faced with a sudden raging, heart-pounding urge of _yesyesyesyes._

“Daniel, no,” he said weakly.

But Daniel only smiled wryly at him. “Is that a no because I’ve read this entirely wrong, and have made a complete ass of myself, or no because you’re thinking too much right now?”

“ _Daniel_ ,” Jack pleaded, only he wasn’t sure what he was asking for.

Instead of answering him in words, Daniel drew him nearer still. There was a pause when they were so close that Jack could feel Daniel’s breath on his lips. And then Jack managed a gentle tip forward, and there went any chance of turning back.

It was nothing like Jack imagined, kissing Daniel. Mostly because he’d never allowed himself to imagine it, not consciously. The mere suggestion of it had always felt too dangerous—he couldn’t follow where this fascination, this _adoration_ ever led, and so he’d simply refused to consider it even in his idlest fantasies.

In reality, kissing Daniel wasn’t too different from kissing a woman—only they were of a height, and Daniel smelled of warm cedarwood and limes, and there was an exotic roughness along his jawline.

But had time ever stretched, gone hazy and filmy like it did now? Did white static ever flood his veins and blank his mind like this, sparking with a pulse-jumping delight that was almost too much for his body to carry?

Jack swayed forward when it ended, still pulled along after Daniel, ever like a magnet towards true north. The ringing of a pipe wrench slamming onto the table echoed in his ears.

“Took you long enough,” Daniel murmured, smiling against his mouth.

“How’d you…” Jack said, unable and unwilling to pull away.

Daniel’s lips tugged up into a crooked grin. “All this time, you’re so busy pretending not to notice, you didn’t realize you were being watched right back,” he said, and pushed his fingertips through Jack’s hair, palm sliding against his cheekbone. Jack turned into the touch as naturally as a flower chasing the sun.

“But. You-?”

Laughing, Daniel shook his head. “I make you lunch and take you to see Marilyn Monroe at the Hollywood Bowl, then drive you up to where the high school kids come up to neck,” Daniel told him. “What do you think?”

Jack closed his eyes briefly, head spinning. “This a dream?”

“Think my knees are shaking a little too much for it to be dreamland, pal,” Daniel confessed him. “Mind handing over my crutch?”

“Oh, yeah, yeah.” Jack reached over and fumbled for the crutch, which had fallen over when the world shifted and spun on its axis. He handed it over to Daniel, and then was knocked dizzy again when, properly balanced, Daniel leaned in to show his gratitude.

“C’mon,” Daniel prodded after a heady couple of minutes. “I’m beat.”

Jack, dazed into stupefaction, stumbled a bit as Daniel drew him down towards the parked car.

Sunday morning dawned white and wan—thick clouds bleached the sky, blocking the sun, casting everything underneath in a bright, pale bleakness that did nothing to encourage Jack from leaving the safe warm warren of blankets.

“Hey,” Daniel said from the doorway of the bedroom. He smiled when Jack turned around.

“Good morning,” Jack said, both pleased and wary. He’d woken up alone, though to be fair, he’d gone to bed alone as well. Last night had felt like a hallucination—he’d half convinced himself the fever’d returned. Daniel’s suggestion they talk in the morning was almost equally a relief as disappointing, Jack had felt so disoriented.

In the bright, sober light of morning, facing the man himself in all his charmingly rumpled and fresh-faced glory, Jack was forced to accept the reality of this situation. A situation that Jack hadn’t dared to ever hope for. And therefore, had no contingencies prepared.

But Daniel didn’t seem to be bothered by Jack’s incipient panic attack. He ambled into the room and sat down on the corner of the mattress, an intimate gesture that maintained a polite distance between them.

“You want to get breakfast?”

Jack swallowed, tried not to think about how they were technically in the same bed. “If there’s coffee in it.”

Daniel looked offended. “Is there coffee, my god, Jack. C’mon, get dressed.”

“Sure,” Jack said, but didn’t move. What now? Were they pretending last night hadn’t happened? Were they just friendly colleagues again, was Jack to spend the rest of the stay in Los Angeles hiding behind these jovial cracks and grins, and forgetting what it was like, just the two of them, under the cold clarity of a starred sky, and an all-too-brief kiss that nevertheless was seared into his memory? Jack wanted, simultaneously, to run screaming from the whole damn city, and also, to take Daniel by the shoulders and shake him like a cocktail.

“You waiting for an invitation?” Daniel said after a minute of locked gazes. A slow smile was spreading over his face; he continued, “What, should I get it engraved? Embossed with gold leaf, you want a sample menu too? Want me to make a formal request? Jack Thompson, bane of my existence, tyrant terrible of SHIELD, would you do me the highest honor of breaking fast with me at a nearby institution, mayhap over a couple eggs, a sausage link-”

“Jesus shut up,” Jack breathed, and yanked him forward by the collar. Daniel was still laughing as they met halfway in a kiss. “I want waffles, with real maple syrup, and bacon, you unbelievable asshole.”

“Then what the hell’re you still doing in bed,” Daniel pointed out, very helpfully weighing him down against the sheets and blankets.

“Good question,” Jack said, and the rest of his response was lost to the folds of white bedding, the brightness of morning, and Daniel holding his gaze with a steadfast, satisfied smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Some commentary [here](https://chouette.dreamwidth.org/151822.html#cutid3).


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